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Untitled by Ben Higgins

published by bdaniels on Fri, 10/19/2007 - 23:58

After watching the recent Lockerbie trial on the news I became intrigued. I researched it on the internet and it touched a nerve somewhere in me. I have never written poetry before but wanted to in this case. my college tutor wanted me to show others, so I am putting it here. bare in mind it is fictional, so my facts and numbers might be wrong:

When I was just a little boy,
Flying was my thing,
When I slept I dreamt of flying,
And flew all through my dreams.

When Dad said we were going abroad,
I didn't care where to,
I'd be flying on an aeroplane,
From here to Timbuktu.

Our destination Lockerbie,
Our flight was 103,
247 other people,
Were all to die with me.

Soaring through the long blue sky,
Nothing could go wrong,
But two men had a radio,
Inside there was a bomb.

All of a sudden a great big noise,
And flames licked through the cabin,
Now everything is black with smoke,
My Dad looks like he's dyin'.

The plane no longer sails the sky,
But plummets like a stone,
Our destination Lockerbie,
I wish we stayed at home.

The ground is fast approaching now,
Not like in my dreams,
My dad is still and silent now,
Surrounded by the screams.

I'm quiet though, I'm not afraid,
I'll soon be up in heaven,
My Dad and I will see my Mum,
She died when I was seven.

I don't hate the men who took my life,
Politics are the blame,
Our World is corrupted by power now,
Governments are all the same.